Darkness we Became
by SweetG
Summary: -Puck/Kurt- They don't know how the notes go from playful and unobtrusive, to this. How they got from 'i like your shoelaces' to 'I want to devour you'. How coy turned to dangerous, how push came to shove. How there was nothing at first, but then... Then.


The end of high school means nostalgia for something that isn't gone yet; it means looking at everyone who surrounds you and thinking _I'm leaving this behind, I'm leaving _you_ behind_._ I'm starting a new life; I'm moving on._

_**:::...:::**_

(It means doing things in order to hang on to a thread; in order to get an eternity, however flawed.)

They don't know how the notes go from playful and unobtrusive (one Monday Kurt gets three notes in his locker; one says _you_, the other _are_.

The last one says _beautiful_.

And even though one of the jocks completely ruined his favorite coat that day, he still found himself smiling a blinding smile until he went to bed), to this.

How they got from _i like your shoelaces_ to _I want to devour you, to fuck you until you're pliant and spent_.

How coy turned to dangerous, how push came to shove.

How there's a stolen kiss inside a closet (inside another world, inside their teenaged heads), but then there's forceful grabbing, and rubbing against one another, and the heavy panting that comes with blushing cheeks and come laced stomachs with barely undone jeans, and hands shaking from (_too much feeling and_) the intensity of a hidden orgasm .

How there was nothing at first (and it _was safe_, they were friends for the first time, they were getting along, and they were no longer _fag_ and _jock_, B_itch_ and _Neanderthal_), but then... Then.

(Then an indecipherable hunger, a blood-y- lust, an uncouth thirst. A need to end all needs, and the biting cries to cut through space, to cut through time.)

How one day there was _you_, there was _me_; then a few weeks later, there was an _us_, there was a _we_.

_**:::...:::**_

Puck, personally, doesn't know what happened, what _is_ _happening_. Doesn't know _where he stands_, doesn't even know where he _wants_ to stand.

He (is barely a kid, but) just knows what he wants (knows it with demolishing clarity, with a maddening certainty, knows it just the way he knows his own name)...

...Sec sex sex _sex_

(There's a first time. A first time, and much frustration, and not an inch of space to spare between them when they part from a bruising kiss, breathing heavy and spastic.

They are hard, gone, and _sosofucked_.

Kurt bites his lip, all swollen and full and plump and red, and there's something needy, something gorgeous, something poetic about the simple act.)

And _after_ the sex? After the sex, he wants everything else. He wants Kurt Hummel entirely for him, trapped inside a crystal box, all sharp hips and poignant stares and hard words that strive to sting (like a slap, like getting a vaccine, like yanking a single hair from your head) but not to really hurt.

He wants Kurt naked in the mornings, wants him beside him during the day (hand in hand like two fucking _pansies_) , wants to hold him through the nights (hold him tightly, to ensure that he won't leave like everyone else's already left).

Puck thinks of what he wants and all he manages to see is blue-green-grey, blue-green-grey, _blue-green-grey_. He sees those colours inside his eyelids, and they dance along to his other thoughts, along to the songs he loves, along to the things he worries about, along to any other feelings he may have.

He closes his eyes, and there's a light laughter stuck in an endless loop, high and breathy and pausing for a second or two to dissolve into a _Noah_ ( _Noah, stop. Noah, shut up. Hi, Noah. Are you okay, Noah? Do you need something, Noah? Oh, Noah. Noah, Noah, Noah..._).

Puck looks at Kurt, and hears his own heart trying to work itself into a premature death. He looks at the guy (and he's just a guy, right? Just a guy. He's just a random guy, so _what_ is so damn special about him?) and starts thinking things like _let's build a happy place within a song__._

He doesn't know much. He doesn't know the _'why's, the 'how's, the 'what's, the 'where's, and the 'when's_. But he knows that after the year's done and Kurt says the inevitable _fuck this noise_, leaving Lima for greener pastures and to never even _think_ of setting a foot here again, he'll probably end up following.

_**(**__**:::...:::**_

Skin on skin, sweat, and the smell of excitement, and years of whichever betrayals rolling down from their naked behinds. Kisses trailing down an equally naked collarbone; a tongue grazing a nipple, teasing lightly and sucking for a while –tender and soft and ephemeral-.

A humming noise, like the most erotically wild animal, a pale hand reaching towards a leaking cock, pumping once, twice, three times in slow succession –a promise, a non verbal communication; a meaningful touch in between so many feathery nothings-.

A _Noah,_ exacting and full of desire and expectation.

A grunt, painful and closer to a wail than he would be willing to admit to anyone but himself.

After that, he is all parting lips and lapping tongue. His mouth's open, wide and inviting, and engulfing as much warmth as he can. He sucks and swallows, and groans and moans, holding bony hips with both hands, trying to imprint his fingers there -_mine, mine, mine, mine-._

He's not refined at all, and there's spit everywhere, but he wants it as dirty as he can get it. He wants it trashy and filthy; he takes his mouth from Kurt's dick –a wet slide and the most obscene sounding _pop_ he's ever heard, like a thousand profanities all together and laced with a virgin's first growl- and looks at him, and then goes down again, as far as he can get without triggering his gag reflex.

When Kurt comes –perfection in every sound, in every twitching and graceless gesture- he swallows as much as he can, finally letting go of those hips, bruised a pleasant purple that won't fade away easily, to jerk himself off to the rhythm of a lean chest going up and down in stuttering motions.

_Blue-green-__grey_. After he spills himself all over long, white legs, Kurt smiles at him calmly -exhaustion and drowsiness coating his every muscle- and Puck thinks _yeah, i love you_, and _no way in hell are you leaving without me_, and _god, you are so beautiful_.

_**:::...:::)**_

There was a time when they were on the edge. A time when they were (not only Kurt and Puck, but everyone else in their club, too) lost, and stupid, and fumbling and filled to the brim with someone else's pride and hate and sadness.

A time when they were broken and lonely (and alone) and had nothing but a bitter cynicism, and some empty hopes (and an even emptier faith).

They are no longer those kids (none of them).

(And maybe that's another meaning, too. Maybe leaving high school behind means _growing up_, in addition to _moving on_.)

_**:::...:::**_


End file.
